“Vulnerability is the only way through the wall that separates us.” ~Brene Brown
Whenever I share something deeply personal—an article, a post, a piece of my story somewhere or with someone—there is a part of me that lights up with energy. I feel an urgency, an urge to share. The belief that some people need to be heard, connected, and feel less alone. And it often helps me understand my own experiences as well. Even if I am not always aware of it, I am guided by a higher reason.
Storytelling is healing—for the writer, the storyteller, and the reader. Raw, human experiences of truth exercise power.
And yet…after I hit the “publish” button or open my heart to a friend or loved one, something familiar comes after sharing.
A wave. An intensity. Tightness in my chest. A sinking feeling in my stomach. Second guess.
Have I said too much? Did I overshare? Was that brave – or careless? Will I still love and accept that they saw me this way?
I remember the first time I shared something deeply raw in a public post. I wrote about a moment at a yoga retreat when our group was hiking in the Australian rainforest and came upon a small stream that glistened as if it had been waiting for us. The water was clear, fresh and absolutely inviting. Neither of us brought bathing suits – swimming wasn’t part of the plan.
That didn’t stop some women. Feeling free, embodied, and deeply connected, they undressed and swam naked in the stream. I stood there in silent awe of their boldness and bravery.
I hesitated, stuck between the desire to connect and the voice of my conditioning: my body wasn’t perfect, not thin enough, too post-motherhood, and I hadn’t shaved in a while…
I finally let go and partially undressed. I stepped into the stream and let the water embrace me. In that moment I felt a release I didn’t know I needed. My skin feels the soothing, cooling effect of the fresh spring on my being. My body—with its newfound curves, softness, and life—was a wonder, a vessel of experience, not a source of shame. I felt so alive.
Excitedly, I pressed “publish” on the story. Immediately after the appearance, the wave arrived: a ball in my stomach, a knot in my solar plexus. Shame. Confusion. Have I revealed too much? Was I a female trainer talking about naked bodies while struggling with my own insecurities? What would my customers think?
The answer was beautiful though. The women wrote back, saying the story resonated. Some remembered that magical day. Others recognized their own struggles body image. Some felt inspired. That first act of vulnerability—raw, imperfect, human—planted seeds far beyond my own consciousness.
This experience taught me something important: the intensity we feel after sharing does not mean we did something wrong. It means we have touched something true.
Now I share more and more about myself: my experienced failures, my hopes, my insecurities and the wisdom I have gained from experience. I continue to push the edges of my comfort zone and recently share very personal matters such as my ADHD diagnosis and more recently my strong views on patriarchy and current social issues.
Every time I step outside my comfort zone, I feel it again: the response of the nervous system, raw and real. But each time the intensity is a little lighter and I face it with more patience, compassion and understanding.
Vulnerable sharing is still an act of truth, trust and connection.
Nobody talks about hangover vulnerability
What I’ve learned is that this emotional fallout is incredibly common. Some call it a vulnerability hangover—the emotional slump that follows openness.
When we share something real, we come out from behind our defenses. We let ourselves be seen. And as the moment passes, the nervous system asks a very old question:
“Am I safe now?”
This question can manifest as sadness, anxiety, shame, regret, fear of rejection, or the urge to withdraw and hide. That’s not to say the sharing was bad. It means we are human – and we belong together.
Oversharing vs. conscious sharing
For a long time I thought this wave meant I was oversharing. I see it differently now.
Oversharing isn’t about how much you reveal. It’s about how and why you reveal it. Oversharing often happens when:
- we will share it with him we regulate our emotions instead of catching ourselves first.
- The wound is still bleeding, it does not form a fine scar.
- We seek reassurance, affirmation, or relief from others.
- We share without regard to container or connection.
- Afterwards, we feel exhausted, ashamed or fragmented.
Oversharing isn’t a failure – it’s an indication that a part of us needed more support before being seen.
Conscious sharing, on the other hand:
- It stems from self-connection rather than the need for emotional regulation.
- It is done by intention and choice.
- He respects the timing, its bordersand the context.
- It leaves us tender but still intact.
- You feel aligned, even if it’s uncomfortable.
Both can be emotional. Only one honors us.
The questions that changed my sharing
Before I share it now – either in writing or in conversation – I stop and ask myself the following simple questions:
“Am I sharing fully or am I asking to be withheld?”
There is no judgment in the answer. Both are deeply human.
If I ask to be held, I know that sharing would be better suited to a private, resourced space—therapy, close friendships, journaling, or just sitting with myself.
When I share from wholeness—even a gentle wholeness—I trust it more.
“Who needs to hear this and what really needs to be said?”
This question prompts me to step out of the ca me and it serves the message—the deeper intent and mission of the story.
If the honest answer is to talk to a specific person I’m upset with, then I know that a private conversation is a better fit.
But if the answer is that it’s for women who live with self-doubt or are going through a similar experience in silence and solitude, then I trust the story. I trust that it carries wisdom, can be healing, and is worth sharing.
When the aftertaste still comes
Even conscious, coordinated vulnerability can feel raw afterward. Just because you feel vulnerable doesn’t mean you’ve shared too much. This often means that you have touched something true.
Because sensitive, empathic people-those who feel deeply and care deeply – vulnerability activates the nervous system. And the nervous system does not speak in logic, but in perception.
That’s why how we take care of ourselves after sharing is just as important as the sharing itself.
How I take care of myself after vulnerability
I’ve learned not to rush through the aftermath – face it gently. The inner river of love.
Here’s what helps me after sharing a vulnerable post:
1. Mark done
I consciously close the moment – close my laptop, put my phone down, wash my hands.
I say softly“What had to be shared, we shared.”
2. Come back to my body
A hand on my heart. Deep inhalation. Longer exhalation. Gentle stretching.
No analysis – just presence. I imagine the intensity of the feeling as I breathe in and out the inner river of love.
3. Witness my bravery
Instead of repeating the story, I admit the act:
“That was brave.”
“I didn’t leave myself.”
“I decided to stand up for myself.”
4. Take back my boundaries
I visualize my energy returning to me and repeat the following:
“What is mine, I keep. What is not mine, I let go.”
5. Earth in everyday life
A warm tea. A shower. A walk. Something simple and human. Life goes on. I’m safe.
The deeper truth I trusted
For a long time, we, especially women, were taught to call telling the truth “oversharing.” Not because it was bad, but because it made other people uncomfortable.
The goal is not to be less honest.
We don’t have to soften our stories, hide our feelings, or alter our truth to make others feel comfortable. Honesty isn’t the problem—it’s the path to connection, healing, and self-understanding.
The goal is to be more loyal to ourselves.
Being faithful means sharing alignment, caring for our own boundaries, and then caring for ourselves.
This means knowing the difference between an open wound that requires more internal support before sharing, and a scar that can be safely held in the hands of others.
When we are true to ourselves, vulnerability becomes a gift—both to us and to those who receive our story—because we remain intact, grounded, and whole, even when they see us deeply.
Some stories heal us privately.
Some people heal collectively.
There are seeds that are quietly planted without us seeing how they grow.
And sometimes the intensity after sharing is simply the nervous system learning that it’s possible to be seen—and still be safe.
A mantra I keep coming back to
When doubt creeps in, I repeat:
“I share out of fullness, not hunger.”
“I trust the part of me that chose to speak.”
And I let that be enough.
